Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: Clearly, I have a problem. But I cannot stop with these two. Seriously, how are they so perfect?

Disclaimer: Suits still, sadly, isn't mine; title found in Dierks Bentley's Tip It On Back.

She leans against the wall, watching the new associates filter into the ballroom. They all look a little lost. Confused. As if they can't believe Pearson Hardman (name change still to be determined) would host an event mostly in their honor.

Donna's not sure she'd ever classify the annual associates bachelor auction (proceeds to benefit arts education in local schools) as honorable, but they'd find out.

Probably right after Louis made them all line up by height and Harvey reminded them for the ninth time that he'd brought in the record high bid at the firm.

Pushing off the wall, she smooths her dress as Jessica glides past, a small wave and the tilt of her head asking where Harvey is. She shrugs in response, quells the urge to reply that she's no fucking Stacey McGill.

Especially not tonight.

She's been to these events with him before, too many times to ever name, but tonight's the first time (even though no one at the firm is aware of it) that she's there as his date.

It's only been three weeks since they started... well, whatever they're doing. There's no perfect term for it though... She laughs, remembering the nine shades of red he'd turned when she introduced him as her paramour to a friend the week before.

(He'd eventually stopped gaping long enough to call her darling fifteen times before the conversation was over.)

Still, there's something intoxicating about being with him—of handing him memos and feeling his touch linger, of patching through the next call just as he asks for it and seeing his usual smirk turn into a full-blown smile—right under everyone's noses.

She knows a different kind of exhilaration will come when they tell people (or when Mike figures it out), but right now—

"Louis' date looks like one of your mom's bridge friends." His breath is warm on her ear as he sidles up next to her, handing her a glass of wine.

"What gave it away: the garish dress or the diamond ring you could sink the Titanic on?" She takes a sip of the her drink, eyes narrowing as the liquid washes over her palate. "And who paid you to take this glorified grape juice off their hands? I mean, I'm sure you've plied plenty of other women with this chardonnay, but I'm not that easy, Harvey."

He doesn't even bother trying to come up with an excuse, which is the first thing that tips her off. Something's up. For once she can't be sure exactly what, but she can see it in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how his finger tighten slightly on his own glass.

"For as many times as we've thrown this bullshit fundraiser—"

"It's a legitimate charity event." She doesn't know why she's defending it because, truth is, it's a glorified reason to make the associates sweat over something else, but it really is a good cause.

"Still, why can't we bring it into this century? Send some bachelorettes out, too? Or replace some of this crap; I think those balloons are the same ones that were here when I was onstage."

"Finally admitting that you're getting old?"

"Some things get better with age." He steps closer, hand pressing lightly into the small of her back and she wonders if anyone would see it—the heat, the comfort—if they looked at them right now. "You should plan it next year; Jessica would be—"

"Damn lucky to have me." She laughs, grimacing a little as she contemplates taking another drink of wine. "I'd obviously excel at decor and coming up with a kickass theme, but, no, I'll gladly let Norma handle the nightmare of seating char—"

A waiter steps between them just then, a lone glass of wine perched on his tray. "Your special request, Mr. Specter."

Wordlessly Harvey takes the glass and hands it to her, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

He's so pleased with himself that she can't decide if she wants to hit him or kiss him.

Dismissing the waiter with a smile, she leans against him and takes a drink. It's smooth, but spicy and for the first time she realizes she loves Helfrich Gewurtztraminer because it reminds her of him—of them—in many ways.

"You know, now you have to make sure they have this on the menu for the Christmas party."

He laughs, erasing what little space is left between them as his arm falls over her shoulders. "Done."